‘I got there,’ said Denisov. ‘ “Now then, where can I find your chief?” ’ They showed me. “I twust you don’t mind waiting?” “I’m hewe on business, I’ve widden twenty miles and I haven’t time to wait. Announce me.” Vewy good, but out comes the thief-in-chief and he wants to upbwaid me too. “This is wobbewy!” says he. “A wobber,” I say, “is not someone who gwabs some wations to feed his men, it is someone who gwabs things to fill his own pockets.” “Will you please be silent?” Vewy good. “Go and wite a weceipt,” says he, “for the commissioner, but this will have to be weported.” Off to the commissioner. In I go, and guess who’s sitting at the table . . . No, guess! . . . Guess who’s starving us all to death!’ roared Denisov, banging the table with the fist of his recently bled arm so violently that it almost collapsed, and the glasses jumped. ‘Telyanin! “What?” I shouted. “So it’s you that’s starving us all to death?” and I smashed his face in, gave him a wight one, I did. I called him every name under the sun and I laid into him. It was great fun, I can tell you,’ cried Denisov, his white teeth gleaming under his black moustache in a smile of malicious glee. ‘I’d have killed him if they hadn’t pulled me off.’ ‘Don’t shout. Calm down,’ said Rostov. ‘You’ve made it bleed again. Keep still. You need a bandage.’
Denisov was bandaged and put to bed. Next morning he woke up calm and cheerful.
But at midday the regimental adjutant called on Denisov and Rostov at their hut. His face was grave and full of regret as he painfully showed them the official form served on Major Denisov by the colonel in charge of the regiment, raising questions about the incidents of the previous day. The adjutant warned them that the affair seemed likely to take a very bad turn. There would be a court martial, and in view of current strictures against looting and insubordination the best he could hope for would be reduction to the ranks.
The case presented by the injured parties was that Major Denisov, after seizing the wagons, had come to the Chief Commissioner for Procurement on his own initiative and in a drunken state had called him a thief, issued physical threats and on being led out had rushed into the office and attacked two officials, one of whom ended up with a dislocated arm.
Rostov persisted with his questions and in response Denisov accepted that some other fellow did seem to have got involved, but anyway it was all complete rubbish, he wouldn’t dream of worrying about any court, and that if those swine dared to pick on him he’d give them an answer they wouldn’t soon forget.
This offhand manner was typical of Denisov’s attitude to the whole affair, but Rostov knew him too well not to notice that deep down (though he hid it from everyone else) he was dreading the court martial and was desperately worried about the whole affair, which was clearly going to have terrible consequences. Documents began arriving daily, forms to be filled in and summonses, and Denisov was instructed to appear before the divisional staff on the 1st of May, having placed his squadron under the command of the officer next in seniority, for an inquiry into the fracas that had occurred in the commissioner’s office. But on the day before the hearing Denisov was out on a reconnaissance mission organized by Platov and involving two Cossack regiments and two squadrons of hussars, as always well out in front, flaunting his courage, when a French marksman shot him in the fleshy part of his upper leg. At any other time, perhaps, Denisov wouldn’t have left the regiment for a scratch like that, but on this occasion he took full advantage of it to excuse himself from appearing at Staff HQ, and went into hospital.
CHAPTER 17
The month of June saw the battle of Friedland,13 in which the Pavlograd hussars did not take part. It was followed by a truce. Rostov, who was badly missing his friend and had had no news of him since he had left, was worried about the charge against him and his wound, so he took advantage of the truce and got permission to visit Denisov in hospital.
The hospital was located in a small Prussian town which had been ravaged twice by Russian and French troops. With the countryside around looking so pleasant in the early summer weather this little place looked particularly dismal, nothing but shattered roofs and fences, filthy streets and ragged inhabitants, and sick and drunken soldiers wandering about everywhere.
The hospital itself consisted of a stone house with bits of old fencing all over the yard, and many shattered window-frames and broken panes. Several soldiers swathed in bandages, with faces pale and swollen, were walking about or sitting around in the yard enjoying the sunshine.
The moment Rostov walked through the door he was assailed by the stench of hospital disinfectant and putrefying flesh. On the stairs he met a Russian army doctor with a cigar in his mouth. He was followed by a Russian medical assistant.
